Going Down
by pyrogirl23
Summary: Ulrich's a drug dealer. Odd's sister has been kidnapped. Aelita's dad died in front of her. William's depressed. Sissi's run away. And Yumi? Is a counsler. (Or, the Lyoko gang is in a counsling group.)


_I strongly suggest listening to How to Save a Life by The Fray while reading this story._

**Under the right circumstances, the cold-hearted can warm up. Under the right circumstances, the violent can become docile. Under the right circumstances, the raging drunk down the lane can become a sensitive, wise creature.**

**There's something hidden in all of us.**

** -Dark Magician Girl Aeris**

_Six hurt, tough children. Six lives that have had trials, six lives that have held more pain than most adults have in their entire lives. The kind of pain that is hard to live with day in and day out, the kind that people commit suicide over. There are others involved, of course, as there are in most tragedies. A seventh person, to guide them, to listen to them, and to help them win in their terrible struggle against greed, and an eighth man, there to antagonize them and make them suffer terribly before they're done with their healing. But mostly, it's about these six that our tale is about. These six are not regular; no, far from it. After all, why would we waste our time writing about normal when there are the strong and strange to write, in a little place in our imaginations to have fun with?_

The park is a place where you spend your childhood to most. Some of our favorite memories are from this place: a school field trip where you met your best friend, or a family picnic where the whole family was all together for the first time. The possibilities for joy are all around this place, making it fond memories for all.

He could remember when he had just thought of the park as good memories, the place that he and his mom had come to after school every day when he was a little boy. He had been so innocent, so carefree when he was little. He had swung on the swings, gone down the slide, did the things that every child did at the park happily- a happiness that had eluded him at home.

But Ulrich Stern was not a child anymore, hadn't been for a very long time. And he didn't use the park for play anymore -it was all business then, now.

He was sitting on a park bench casually, leaning back against the bench, stretched out like he had no care in the world. Ulrich was just staring at the trees, not on his phone setting up deliveries for his goods or laptop checking e-mails for more pick-ups like he normally was before his…"meetings". But he had a new important client coming today, and it would not look good to act like he was not looking out for her. This new one was temperamental and spoiled, and thought the world revolved around her. He wouldn't deal with her at all if he could, and yet she was rich. And Ulrich liked money.

Next to the black-haired man, there was a huge blue bag that Ulrich was holding. He kept messing with it, playing with the bag in his lap, acting like he was going to throw it but choosing not to at the last second, picking it up and putting it down, but never directly looking at it or opening it. He liked holding and fiddling with the bag; it made sure that he had it on him, not leaving it anywhere that it wasn't supposed to be left. Ulrich had a bad history with loosing things, but if he left this around, it was a one-way ticket to a place he dreamed about often-juvie, or worse. Jail.

Suddenly, two figures moved, nearly out of his range but not quite, almost like they didn't want to be seen. Ulrich straightened, and stopped throwing the bag around. His dark chocolate eyes scanned the forest grounds. He tensed, and he looked for a moment like a trapped mouse- a trapped mouse that was about to run for his life.

"Boo." Ulrich jumped 10 feet in the air at the loud girly voice that had yelled into his ear. He turned around, ready to beat the crap out of whoever had just scared him like that, (he thought he was about to be arrested for a moment), but he recognized who it was that had yelled at him like that. "Talia," he said quietly. The girl beamed. "That's me!" she yelled, and Ulrich winced.

Talia Scarf was from a rich family, and had always been a bad girl that looked nice. She had always defied the rules, from filling her school pool full of Coke to getting in trouble with the police on numerous occasions. He heard that her accepting a job from Ulrich was creating quite a stir. But it was understandable to him… for if you're rich, why would you want to be a drug dealer?

"Hey babe. What are you doing here?" Talia said as she sat down, almost on, but not quite, on Ulrich's lap.

"You know what's happening; this isn't a pleasure meeting. Let's get started." Her smile fell immediately from her pretty face. Talia didn't have much going for her, except for her looks. If she wasn't such a rebel, with her pink hair and red contacts, then he would have called her beautiful-IF he had been a normal boy. He would have gotten horny, with her sitting on his lap (almost) with her short blue skirt that barely covered her ass and a skimpy tank top that was basically a bra and barely covered her tits- IF he was a normal boy. But then, normal didn't really apply to Ulrich Stern.

"Right, business as always, as it always has been and always will be." The girl let out a soft sigh, almost like the girl was disappointed by this, and Ulrich rolled his eyes. He knew that Talia had a thing for him, ever since they had worked together (correction: hooked up) in a project in freshman year together, but it was starting to be a bit much for him. They would never be together seriously, and that was that. She had known that for as long as she had known him. So why was she starting to get into this again, especially when she was about to become part of the business? **His** business, to be exact.

"Do you understand what you will be doing under me?" This time, it was Talia's turn to roll her eyes. "Ulrich dear, if I didn't understand what's to be done, would you have brought me this far? Would we be meeting for you to give me the goods right now?" On the dear part, he flinched.

"Never, EVER, call me that again if you want to keep working for me. This isn't some weird relationship that we're having, this is our job. I'm the boss, you're the worker. No more than that. Understand?" Ulrich's voice sounded dangerous. At the girl's nod of her pale head, he continued. "Also, I might have chosen to keep you on because I could set you up for the police. If you have the drugs on you, then you could easily take the blame for me, and no one would ever know a thing more." He looked Talia straight in the eye. "One thing you should never, ever do in this business is trust. You can assume that a fellow drug dealer is a friend, and then he stabs you in the back. Where do you end up? Jail or worse! That is the most important lesson that you learn in this business, the number one rule of drug- dealing: Don't ever trust someone else, even if it means they die. Don't you ever, ever forget that lesson."

Talia smiled. "Ulrich, don't you think you should have reminded yourself of that?" At the look on Ulrich's face, she started to laugh- a cackle, truth be told. It made him feel nervous, that she knew something that he obviously didn't.

When she was done, her voice became horribly quiet. "Ulrich, you have screwed me over time and time again. I love you, and all you ever saw me as was a cheap whore who you could fuck and leave." The word fuck seemed to echo through the park. "I loved you, and I told you that, time and time again. You laughed at me and my feelings, said I didn't truly feel that way, said that it was puppy love, said that I was lying. When you finally figured out that it wasn't that at all, you left**.** You said that you were done, you said that you couldn't deal and you left me broken hearted at my locker." The girl drew in a long breathe. Ulrich was starting to grow a little worried. Why was she bringing this all up again? Why did it matter, three years later?

"And then, three days later, I hear about you fucking Milly Soloviof! Little eighth grader Milly! And then I hear that you fucked her best friend Tamiya two days after it! And that's how it goes for the rest of our high school days! Doing this chick, moving on a day later to another one! I'm pretty sure that you ruined most of the girl's lives at our school! And to think, I'm the one that you did it first with! I'm the girl whose life you ruined first!

"And then years later, I've finally forgotten about it! I've found happiness with Herve! Herve, the class geek! You know, the one whose girlfriend you fucked, ruining their relationship forever?! And now we're engaged. The wedding's in June."

Ulrich had listened to this for long enough. He didn't care that he had given her mental anguish for a long time, and he really didn't care that he had screwed around a lot when he was younger. It was _high school_, that's what you did. You don't learn while you're there; that's what you do on the outside. Who cared that Herve had felt sad when he learned his girl had cheated; that's why he should have had sex with her. He had no regrets; Ulrich didn't look back and think "what if", at least not anymore.

After a long pause, Talia spoke again. Her words were low and quiet, but Ulrich could still hear her. "Another thing that's changed is that I have a job."

"Oh? You mean that you count mooching off your daddy all your life counts as a job now?"

Talia lifted an eyebrow. "You know, Ulrich, until today, I thought that you could be changed, that you had suddenly started to feel bad and wanted to repent for our years together in high school, that you had stopped living this life of crime. I wish that you hadn't dropped out, but you're Ulrich Stern-the ultimate fuck-up." She looked him in the eyes, and whispered, "I'm a fucking undercover police officer arresting you, Ulrich Stern."

He suddenly felt a pressure on his arm, and the cold feel of metal against his wrists, locking them together. When he turned around to look, he saw the familiar blue of her clothing, and realized it suddenly made him feel bad.

"You have the right to be silent…" the police officer started reading off to him as she picked up his blue bag. Ulrich suddenly started to feel sicker than he had in a long, long time.

Everyone knew who Jeremie Belpois was; the smart one who knew all the answers in class, the geek that knew everything and beyond, the nerd that collected old calculators and computers, the genius who knew everything upon everything, the walking dictionary that could probably recite to you the whole thing if you asked. The one that always got his picture in the paper for some bloody new smart award- the blond with a smirk on his face, wearing glasses and a blue sweater every single time, looking slightly mysterious yet cold at the same time as he always did when his picture was in the paper.

That was his routine for when he was in the paper. Show up, shake the reporter's hand, answer the questions with a pre-determined answer he had decided himself, take a couple of pictures, shake a couple of hands, and leave. He didn't enjoy reporters (too noisy and unpredictable!), and he could keep it to a respectable eight minutes if it went all right-if he needed to, six minutes and twenty-three seconds if he needed too.

That was what he did with his whole life, if he thought about it for a while- he didn't like to wait, and allowing things to go their own way in life was a recipe for disaster. So he would decide before he did things the pro's and con's- whether there was a respectable bathroom nearby (he washed his hands four times every hour from nine to five-researchers had said that it was the hour that ninety-three percent of germs were picked up by humans), whether they had tea nearby (research said that tea grew the brain seventy-four percent more than coffee-plus it calmed him), and whether there was any posters with birds inside the place that they were going (birds scared him, especially crows- plus researchers said that it dropped brain levels by sixty-one percent!)

His friend Herve (okay, his only friend, to be honest) had been annoying him for a while about his habits. And it hadn't really mattered to him, because Herve was annoying in general. Herve was the class know-it-all, while Jeremie was the class genius.

Herve had bugged him about it when they had been talking about things that they could do over the weekend (study, study, and more study, of course!) Herve had started complaining about it, asking why they didn't do anything different from their normal plans.

"Please? Please? We do the same exact thing every weekend: we watch the latest Doctor Who episode, we study for finals, we do some calculus problems…And normally that's really cool, but this week we should have something different for a while. Maybe we could go to an amusement park or play mini golf or something?", the engaged man said.

Jeremie slammed his locker. "We've been doing the same thing for the last three years now! Why should we-"

"We should because it would be different, it would be fun!" Herve shook his head. "Jeremie, I'm getting married in a month. And I love Talia with all my heart, but I want to have some fun before I'm tied for the rest of my life to the same girl I've loved since middle school! Plus, you have to admit, it's getting kind of old to just stick to your dumb plans when there's fun happening elsewhere. So what do you say, pal?"

"No." And that was the end of Jeremie's plans for the weekend.

It wasn't that he wanted to say no to Herve. It just sounded like a horrible idea. Why should you do something different when there has been a time-tested plan that goes well instead? It just didn't make sense to Jeremie.

And Jeremie didn't do things that didn't make sense.

He had been thinking of his "habits" ever since that conversation with Herve, and what he had said at the end of it. How could Herve just insult Jeremie like that? He knew that Jeremie didn't like change. So how could Herve just tell him that his routines were dumb and insist on doing something different than what they normally did on Saturday on a Friday? Sometimes, he didn't know what was going on Herve's mind.

He knew that someone would have to be the bigger person, or else he would lose his only friend that was also his closest. Besides, he knew that his friendship was more important than change. He wasn't stupid; that was something that Jeremie definitely wasn't.

But before he got into a long, dumb argument with Herve, he needed to wash his hands. He would feel really bad and disappointed if he didn't; his favorite researcher, Joshua von Twigg insisted upon it, and if he did it, then Jeremie would too.

He went into his bathroom, and saw that his soap was missing. Huh; he had just unpacked a new one yesterday. Oh well; there were always extras.

Thirty minutes later, and Jeremie was having a freak-out. There were NO extras. All of them had been misplaced, or lost, or something weird like that.

Jeremie looked around at the bathroom. It was painted blue (at his request), and had everything a bathroom is supposed to have: a dark-blue toilet in the corner, a shower and bathtub that was painted aquamarine, a rather large mirror that Jeremie hated that went the width of the room, and a sink painted the lightest shade of blue possible, all on sky blue walls and tile. There was no place where it could have been hidden and he wouldn't see it. His bathroom was tiny, barely large enough for himself. He guessed that was why it was his very own bathroom.

He walked out of the bathroom in a panic. Maybe his parents had taken it to their bathroom; they liked it a lot, after all. But they had their own, they could just use that, and besides they would just drive to the store like he was if they needed some. All he had to do was get his keys to his truck and he'd be off!

In all of his thinking, he nearly didn't see the soap on the table or his parents sitting at it.

"Mom! Dad! You made me worry I was losing my mind! Why did you take all my soap out of the bathroom?" And it was all of it. Jeremie was paranoid that he would one day run out of the stuff or the company would stop making it, so he had bought ten packs of the stuff, nine in back-up, one on use. He needed the soaps; they were the ones that all of his favorite researchers had recommended.

"Sit-down, Jeremie," his mother said calmly. Jeremie flinched; his mother only took that tone with him when he had done something wrong, such as the time when he had told his four-year old cousin that Santa wasn't real, or when he had hacked into NASA and token some secrets from them.

He did the logical thing, and did as his mother asked. His father started talking, almost as soon as he had- he always did, he didn't want Jeremie arguing now, did he? (Or at least that's what Jeremie thought.)

"Son, you know we're proud of you right? Always have been, always will be, yadda yadda ya?" his father said in a gruff tone. Jeremie nodded, mind already racing through the possible scenarios that could have caused this. Was it that he had gotten a 95 on his English test? He KNEW he should have studied for more than three hours!

"Well, I'm not proud of you. Haven't been for a while now, to be honest." His father took in a big breath of air; Jeremie took in a big flood of emotion. "Ever since I realized that you were a freak.

"Jeremie, I'm all for cleanliness, but I don't think that washing your hands sixteen times a day is healthy. Sure, maybe if you were giving someone _handjobs_ in a _bathroom_, then fine, but since you're not some stinking faggot it's not." His mother flinched at the hateful word, faggot. "And you can't go anywhere unless it complies with your stupid list of rules, you can't do anything unless that dumbass scientist says that it's all right! I'm sick of it. I'm sick of living my life by my pansy son's ways! You either get better, or get out of my house! Now I'm leaving for a couple of days, and you've better have gotten better by the time I get back! Now look me in the eyes."

Jeremie looked into them- looked into eyes that were the same exact shade of aquamarine as his, but seemed so much harder to him- so much colder. The man looked at his face for a second-his blonde hair, his glasses, and his pale skin-looked at it all, and muttered a word.

"Disgraceful."

Slapped him, as he always seemed to do these days- a loud noise that seemed to echo throughout the whole house whenever it happened.

Opened the door, took the keys, and drove off in his Cadillac.

A daily occurrence in the Belpois household, it seemed to Jeremie. Why couldn't he do anything right? Why couldn't he be normal, not some non-athletic, too smart for his own good weirdo like he was?

His mother sighed, bringing him back and reminded him that he wasn't the only one that had to put up with him. "Before you came in, me and your father…talked. He said that he was willing to pay for some special treatment, if you decide you want to go." She pushed a little brochure in front of his face.

He read the title. "Kids' Addiction, Drugs, and Issues Center- it's meant to help you with whatever problems you have. It has group therapy- something I thought you might be interested in," his mother explained to him.

He glanced at his mother; she was looking hopeful, but wary at the same time, like she was afraid that he would get seriously mad at her for bringing the subject up. With a jolt, he realized that he had been affecting all the people he loved more and more each day with his refusal to change. Yes, it would be a little bit weird-but if he had his mother looking at him like that, the one person who was proud of him and his brilliance looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb, he wondered how everyone else in his life was affected.

"Yeah, okay Mom." His mother looked up, happiness written on her face. "I'll go to this program, just don't expect too much, okay?" His mother hugged him, and for the first time in a long time, Jeremie felt almost okay.

The house was quiet, a quality that was rare during the day. It was huge, with four stories, and was painted a rich lilac color on the outside, with mauve paint on the windows and doors, with the grass outside the house unmowed. All of it combined, to the casual observer, was…strange, to say the least, especially with the house being in a rich neighborhood.

But most people that saw or came to the house weren't casual observers. They knew that the people inside it were in love with the color purple, and knew that they didn't mow their lawn because they didn't feel like it was worth their time-and besides, it worked their neighbors up. The Della Robbia's liked doing that kind of thing- annoying people to the brink of insanity, for their neighbors like it VERY neat.

The man standing outside the house looking in wasn't a family friend, or even a close acquaintance to the Della Robbia's. He didn't even know what they looked like, only that their rep was huge in this town and they had a lot of kids. But the friend of a friend of a friend was one of those old college friends of the couple, and knew everything about the family from the type of security system they had to the passcode for it. He knew all of their schedules, and always knew when the parents would be out of town. The man wondered why the parents didn't take their children with them; the Della Robbia's were close to their children, and normally would take them along. But the man wasn't here to ponder about the family; he wasn't even here to speak to them. He wasn't here for any reason other than business, business that could ruin his life and would most likely send him to jail if he was caught at it.

The man walked up the steps to the eccentric house, and turned the knob. Locked as any door would be if it was late night in a high-class neighborhood as this one was; he certainly knew that he would lock his doors at three o'clock in the morning if he lived anywhere near this area of Los Angeles. As it was, he wasn't as spoiled as the Della Robbia's, and didn't mooch off his old man for money. He took care of himself, had since he was twelve and a half.

It wasn't worth thinking of how people could be so greedy and spoiled; it would just get him mad. He pulled out a bobby pin and started to twist it in the lock, all the while managing to look as inconspicuous as possible; it helped that no one was walking around, as it wouldn't look good to be caught in doorways at three a.m. in the morning. One twist to the left, two twists to the right, and it was done.

He opened up the door, and turned his head, taking in the room that he had landed in. it was nice- very nice, he admitted to himself. The people that he was borrowing from had class. It was their living room that he had landed in. The color scheme was purple, as he felt the whole house was, but it was a nice shade of purple. What was the word for it? Ah, yes, lavender. The couch next to the stairwell that led downstairs was lavender, the bookcase next to that was lavender, the paint on the walls was lavender, and the TV in the corner was lavender. It was a room dedicated to lavender.

He stood there for a moment, and then shook his head; he was there for business, not to stare at living rooms that were dedicated to a shade of purple. He looked down the hallway that was painted a tiny bit darker than the lavender-painted living room. If his sources were correct, the girl's bedroom was down that way, next to the son. The parents were gone, so as long as he didn't make any sudden noises, he would be able to take the goods and get out of their without anyone knowing that the goods were gone at the moment. With any luck, they wouldn't know that the item was gone until the following morning.

With this plan in set, he started to walk down the long hallway. He clutched the large brown sack that he had been holding even tighter, praying to any deity that might be up in the sky to give him guidance during his stealing of the rich, giving to the poor, by using the good to get a good inheritance from the rich family.

The Della Robbia's were VERY well off, from what he had heard his friend say. The father was a businessman for a painting company, while the mother was a famous, excellent painter that was internationally known. They could spare the millions that he would ransom for their precious item and in return it would be released back to the family… not that harmed. The rich, after all, didn't deserve to be treated so well when they had all that money at their disposal.

He crept into the room that his contact had said was the room it was located in. The room was painted a purple, still, but it was a mauve color. Unlike the living room, there were posters all over the wall of famous pop stars, boy bands, and movie stars around the whole room. There was a closet, full of what the thief presumed were full of designer clothing, one of which could pay for a regular person's mortgage payment a month. The bedspread, though, was a dark purple color, and that's where the prize was.

The Della Robbia's made pretty children. The girl was small for her age of sixteen, but made up for it in her face. She had long blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders, and looked soft and silky to the touch. He knew that all the Della Robbia girls were pretty, but this one was probably the prettiest of them all. _That just means more money for the poor_, the man thought in his head.

He approached the bed and silently opened the huge bag. The man gently lifted her up and started to put her in. He had heard from others who had done this before, others who had the same morals as him and sympathized with his cause, that it was easier to put the girl in the bag horizontal- just put her body slowly in, and carry the bag across his chest. He did exactly that, slowly putting the girl in, till you couldn't see an inch of her, not even that pretty blonde hair on top of her.

When he had first heard of the Della Robbia's and their well-fortified mansion, he had thought that he would at least be seen once leaving with their precious daughter. He hadn't thought it would be too easy; his skills hadn't been tested, not even once. And his first solo mission as well! Not even a run-in with the po-

And that's when he ran into the kid.

He was getting a drink of water, eating a midnight snack on the lavender couch in the lavender living room. The boy looked like he was fifteen, maybe a little bit older or younger. He was wearing all purple-purple boxers, purple slippers, even a purple shirt with a dog pissing on it! The kid even had a huge dot of purple in the middle of his long, dark blonde hair, a shade darker than his sister's.

The good thing about this kid was that he was scrawny; he could take him in a heartbeat if the kid decided to get violent. For now, they were just staring at each other, him planning out his next move, the kid probably wondering what in the world was going on.

The kid set down his glass of water, and that was all it took to snap the man out of his thoughts and back to reality. He ran past the boy, knocking him hard in the ribs, hopefully disarming him enough so that he couldn't come after him now-and heard a crisp SNAP! The man smiled; that would be enough to put the kid out of commission for now. Now no one would be able to stop him from making his point, from making his master plan of taking down all the people he had used to know oh so well complete.

And yet, as the man ran fast down the street that was richer than he could ever imagine; as he drove away, in his nondescript black truck; as he took the girl into her new "room", he didn't realize what an effect he had on the boy that he had injured, a boy that the world called Odd. He didn't realize what would happen later; wouldn't know it would happen to him by the boy they called Odd… And all for trying to make a stupid point.

Elizabeth (Sissi) Marie Delmas' house had used to been a happy place. There was laughter, there were friends, there was belonging. Those were things that had never been questioned, never thought twice off, never questioned. They were the absolutes, the definitely's of her life, of her family's life

Of course, that was the 'before' chapter of her life. That was before things changed, before her heart had turned to stone and her father's had turned towards business.

And this was the after portion, the one that no one wanted, but had anyway. Something's were still the same; life hadn't changed completely. Her father still had the same job, she still went to the same school, they both hung out with the same people. It was just that the laughter wasn't as loud or bright or true, the friends had all become more subdued, and she know didn't know where she belonged at St. Agnes School for Girls, let alone where she belonged in the real world.

It hadn't been the same, since **she** had left. Now her father worked late nights, trying to take away the pain through working until he dropped (literally, some nights). For Sissi, it hadn't been that simple. She didn't have anything she could do to take away the pain. The big apartment that she and her father now shared was too big for one person to stay in all night until 1, when her father finally got home. She had pushed all her friends away, (even her best friend, Emily), so she couldn't go to their homes. Every business in town closed at nine, and that was precisely the time that she got bored by.

For the first time in her life that she could remember, Sissi had no place to go. She had no friends, no family, no loved ones-not even a pet.

And that scared her. For all of her life, she had always been the center of her parent's lives. Her father had always doted on her, and her mother had always been that cool mom, the one that every kid secretly wished they had for a parent. She had always had something to do, someplace to go, a hug to accept, affection to be given out like candy, all of it never stopping, even for a slight pause.

When was the last time she had been hugged? She knew it had been a very long time, possibly since _IT_ had happened, or when her stupid pot-head ex Ulrich and her's relationship had broken up and gone to flames! And that had been a very long time ago, possibly half a year! Where had all that affection gone?

She knew the answer. The same place her mother had gone…a place she couldn't follow…even in her wildest dreams.

Sissi shook her head. This was no time to think about depressing things! She was properly running away- had taken all her money in her bank account, her finished novel, her favorite stuffed animal Teddy. She even had a plan- go to the airport and go to New York. No one would ever find her there, especially her father. Plus all the major publishing houses, newspapers, and news stations had their headquarters there. She had always wanted to be a journalist, and New York was the place to start.

The young woman's heart sank at the thought of leaving her father behind. He was the only person who truly cared anymore about her and what would happen to her in life. She knew he would become heartbroken because of her plans, possibly more broken up about it than what had happened to her mum…She hoped that he would eventually understand why she was doing it; not because of him, the man who had been wonderful (besides working himself to death), but because of the rest of her life, and that big black pit that was threatening to swallow her whole.

It had been getting dark now, and she knew it would look suspicious for a girl who didn't look homeless to be out on the streets at night. She looked at her watch, a sixteenth birthday present from her mother-the last present she had gotten from her. It was already eleven o' clock, and the airport was still twenty minutes away. The girl sighed, and hoped that the police didn't pick her up. The chief of the police, Jim, was a very close friend of her father's, and would take her straight home if they found her. And that was the absolute** last** thing that she wanted.

She crossed the street, not bothering to look both ways. Anyone out on the streets this late in the evening were one of two things- they were either drug dealers, trying to prey on innocent brunette girls (namely her), or they were drunk and were trying to kidnap innocent brunette girls (namely her again). Or, at least, that had been what she had been taught. She knew that her father had just been trying to scare her, but what if there was some truth in that? What if the people of San Francisco really did like brunettes better than blondes?

As the seventeen year old walked, trying to figure out what drug dealer's types were, she realized something. There were two men who had been tailing her, and they had been for a long time, ever since she had left her father's apartment. They had been their when she had gotten something to eat, they had been their when she had been thinking about the last time she had gotten affection. And through all that, they had been following her every move.

Her blood ran cold; had her father gotten the police to start following her every move? She knew that he had been overprotective ever since IT had happened, but she didn't know he was getting this close to her. What was happening? Did her father think that she was trying to run away? Had she been getting too suspicious late-?

"You're out late, Sissi," she heard a man say as he caught her wrist. "What are you doing around here? This isn't a good neighborhood. Does your father know that you're out here? What-"

She screamed loudly, and pulled out her pepper-spray. The man went down, just as the two men that had been following her reached where she was on the street.

"Freeze!" one of the men screamed as he pulled out a gun on her-and a badge. "Jim is down, I repeat Jim is down," he spoke into the radio. Sissi looked down at the body, and her mouth formed into a perfect O.

'Oh shit,' was her last thought as she got dragged away, past the pepper-sprayed Jim, the men tending to him, and the deep dark alley with the drug dealers who like brunettes better than blondes.

_In the continent of North America in the country that called itself United States of America in the state that most people called Pennsylvania in a small town of Erie there was a highway. And at the end of this particular highway, there was a road. And at the end of the road, there was a dirt road. And at the end of the road, there was a house._

_ Nothing more, nothing less._

_ In fact, the only person around was a midget who looked like a character out of a fairy tai rather than a mere mortal.. The girl had shocking pink hair the color of watermelons; the only feature on her that was out of the ordinary in any shape or way. An ordinary nose (nothing remarkable), ordinary eyes the chief Slytherin color, a skinny body that looked to frail for her hair. The girl was fine with that though; she had her hair to make up for the rest of it._

_ The girl was skipping and humming a soft tune to herself; she was walking home all by herself, now that she was six years old. It was a fairly new privilege, only given three months ago, given to her on the her first month of kindergarten; it gave Aelita Stones a sense of freedom that she had never had before, being the daughter of a billionaire, after all. She never had privacy, never ever in her life, and now she had it. It was thrilling, to say the least. It was a rush-the simple fact she didn't have to be guarded by her guard while simply walking down a dirt road. Aelita wished it could stay like this forever._

_ She had been walking for nearly thirty minutes, and was only now approaching her house. It was three stories tall, and had much more space than they really needed. The house was more than comfortable in every way, which was A- plus, and the house was so far out in the middle of nowhere that no nosy reporters could get to it easily to ask stupid questions. The house was painted a bright pink, which her daddy said was in honor of her and her mommy's hair, and it looked so cheerful Aelita just wanted to be there this minute, this second, RIGHT NOW.. _

_ As she walked just a little bit faster to reach the house she loved, Aelita thought about who would be at home. Her mommy wouldn't be; she would be at work in that HUGE building they called 'The Met' for a reason that Aelita didn't know but needed to find out, and the maids would be too busy doing their chores and different tasks to play a game of hide and seek with her. That would only leave daddy to play with. _

_ Aelita felt strange about this. Normally, she would be fine with her daddy staying home and playing with her. He was fun and kind and creative; and those were the best kind of adults to play with if you had to. But recently, he had gone from funny to boring, kind to abrupt, creative to scheming. He never seemed to have any time for her anymore…or mommy, for that matter. He had started spending all his time working in their home office, for reasons that the little girl hadn't figured out yet, even with her being a genius and knowing everything about her parent's lives. She knew it had something to do with money…but nothing had had to be changed yet, no life style changes or anything. They weren't going to sell the house and live in a homeless shelter; they weren't going to go move in with her aunt Petunia (not like she had one of those anyway.) Why was Daddy stressing out so much if nothing had been lost, nothing had been done away with yet? Why would you have a war if nothing had been lost? That was the question that she needed to find the answer to._

_ She reached the house, the place that had been her mom's house before they had all lived there; a place called 'Hogwarts'. She knew what that referred to, had even read the books seventeen times (and she had to say Dramione/Fremione ruled), but she didn't see the resemblance. Hogwarts was large and grey and a little frightening; her home wasn't in the least. Her home wasn't a home to children who didn't really have one; it was only home to one little girl who most certainly did._

_ Her home was painted pink instead of grey, was two stories instead of fifteen billion, and was homey. It looked more like The Burrow-the cozy home of the Weasley's- or even 12 Grimmauld Place-home of her hero Sirius Black- after it got cleaned up a little instead of Hogwarts. In fact, it was a combination! A collaboration between the two, with the Burrow's feels and Stubby Boardman's classy look! That was her home, not the residence of the manipulative headmaster Albus Dumbledore! It was beautiful, it was grand, it was glorious! It was all hers, that was the best thing about it._

_ That was what Aelita thought as she walked to the steps that led to the pink door that led to the pretty parlor that entertained truckloads of her friends a month (none today though!). That was what Aelita thought as she walked into the kitchen that she had gotten her afternoon snack out of for the past year, ever since she had started pre-school._

_ This was where she saw the blood-the color of the Weasley's hair, just as shocking. This was where she saw the noose tied around the man's neck. This was where she saw the pills next to the man's body, pills white and looking far too bright on the dark living room floor and saw the money lying next to the pills-tens and twenties and fifties. Money her father had always considered chump change._

_ This was where she found her father's cold dead body. _

_'_Isn't the point of it to ruin yourself when no one's looking, badly enough that it's too late when people finally notice? Maybe that's what they mean by 'a cry for help.' Some people cry for help because a part of them genuinely wants to be rescued, while others simply don't.'

Smart people that had written these sad words with the beating of their hearts and the quickness of their minds; brilliant, that's what they were. Sometimes William wished he could be like that. Make good quotes out of nowhere; make phrases that people would remember for all of time. Be remembered forever, that was the name of William Dunbar's game.

'It didn't bother her anymore, this strangled dance between existence and non-being, this strange state of suspended spirit. Perhaps her guilt had done this to her, perhaps it was the fate of all born as she had been, she did not know.'

Unfortunately he couldn't. 'If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't'.

'You can't lose yourself to the grave, even if inside you're screaming and weeping and howling like an animal. La Danse Macabre goes on, indifferent to whom it picks up in the rhythm, but often it will take a piece of your heart first before it takes the whole package.'

La Danse Macabre-death. Sometimes _**(beforehewhisperedtohimselflatesomenights**_**)** he wished that he could hurry up the process. He had to find something to alleviate the pain-find something that would help him heal.

He had found it. It was a non-sensible thing to do, but he had found it.

But, then again, 'sensible isn't really sensible!' That was an anthem that he could agree with, 100%, 24 hours ago.

This was _**(**__**afterhetooktochainsmokinglateatnight**__**)**_. He thought of his life in two periods- BC and AD.

Before Camilla and after Danny, that is.

Camilla-

_**(He was new, at this strange new school for preps and the powerful-the people who could afford it, that is. He had been expelled from his old school in three hours-one and one half periods of torture. It was his record.**_

_** He wondered if he could break it.**_

_** It looked easy to do, oh so very easy. The school looked, smelled, and probably tasted expensive-all William would have to do would be to break a trophy (one of millions the school had), or cuss out a teacher (the overpaid snobs!) or slap a bitch (the kind that got everything they wanted from Daddy and never had to work for anything.) William smiled.**_

_** It would be his pleasure to do all of that.**_

_** But first, he had to find his first period. The only way to have fun was to do it in front of an audience, and the only audience he would find in the hallways would be a dusty trophy case and lockers that no one used. And he couldn't do that, eh?**_

_** William glanced down at his schedule. Something about AP English for his first period of torture. Sometimes he wished he wasn't so smart. Then it would be easier for him-easier for him to just not terrorize others for the fun of it.**_

_** But that was the point of it-the fun. How else would he get any if he didn't tease and torture?**_

_** There was a girl- a girl that looked like she could use some fun. She had pale skin-paler skin than a vampire. It didn't help that she was wearing all black-made her look like she was about to be killed. He knew what that felt like-he felt it every day, in a prison called school.**_

_** He decided not to be rude at first-needed to test the waters, see whether see was a common slut or something else. "Excuse me, but I was-"**_

_** "Shut it, fucker."**_

_** And she looked at him with scorn, with eyes the color of the palest blue-eyes that-)**_

__He needed a cut. When was the last time he had done it? Five hours ago? Six at most? Whatever it was, it felt like forever and a lifetime ago. He needed it-needed it badly.

When had it gotten so addicting? Had it been the second time, seeing the bright red fluid against his dark sallow skin, gushing out of the slit he had cut himself? Had it been six times after that, when he had cut both his arms at the same time? Had it been when he had started cutting regularly, instead of it being a "one-time thing?"

William didn't know.

He didn't know much besides a great quote he had found on the Internet one day-the -a story of his life, the words that had pushed him over the edge of depression.

The words that had changed his life forever.

He went to the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it-a regular routine at that point. Rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the razor, started doing it-the cleansing of his sins and soul, the only time he truly felt when he got home from the hell-hole called school.

Slit open his left hand once, twice, three times-for he always started on his hand. His right hand-once, twice, three times. Place where hand met fingers to just above the wrist, the blood almost pouring out of his hand, trying to get away from him.

That's what he would do, his routine. He needed it. Needed to get close to death, as close as he could get without going off the cliff to heaven and the light, or to death and the dark. Fuck, he wouldn't care if he went off the cliff; after all, what sane person would?

He moved to his arm. He never cut directly at the wrist; that would be far too easy for him to do to himself. No, he did it all the way down his arm-each one an inch between the last, each deeper than the last, each making him feel better and better about himself from the last… He did it on both arms-made the pain a little bit more vicious, a little more painful, with both of those limbs in on his "dirty little secret".

No one would care if he did this. That was the reason why he kept on doing what he did. That was the "true true"-a truth so deep and powerful that no lies could ever blemish its reputation. No one would ever care about what would happen to poor William Dunbar; in fact, no one would ever know who he _**was**_.

He thought that as he passed out, on the toilet, arms and hands covered in his own lifeblood. He thought that as his father kicked down the door, demanding that he come out of his sulk for dinner. He thought that as he was carried out of the house to the stretcher to the hospital. He thought that for a long, long time.

"A true suicide is a paced, disciplined certainty. People pontificate, "suicide is selfish" while career churchmen like Pater call it a coward's act typically because they lack the necessary suffering to sympathize. Couldn't be further from the truth; suicide tacks tremendous courage."

The greatest quote he had ever found.

This is my first really long story! #happy-dance! So, lovely readers, A) HAPPY-DANCE WITH ME ABOUT THIS GREAT ACHIVMENT! And B)…read below, hopefully it'll explain everything that you're confused about!

Ulrich… I couldn't resist making him a man whore! The thing with Talia, I just felt that would have been him in the show if he had never met Yumi. How did you feel when I made Herve her fiancé? Yeah, I know it's kind of weird, but in my head canon, he gets kind of hot. I felt the best part was when she said that she was an undercover cop, and then arrested him. Hehe.

Btw, I know that I said that Herve is engaged to Talia in Ulrich's part, and in Jeremie's part he's Jeremie's best friend, and Jeremie is still in school. In my head canon for this story, they are in senior year, and some are seventeen while others are eighteen. Talia and Herve are both eighteen, and they have been dating since Ulrich broke Talia's heart and stole Herve's girlfriend, so about four years. They have been engaged since the beginning of their senior year (they were both eighteen by then.) Hope that clear's things up a little bit! (And if that was already clear…well…)

Jeremie…where do I start? I changed Herve to be Jeremie's best friend, and I also made him way cooler than in the show. Jeremie's father is going to be a dick this whole story. I also want everyone out there to know that _**I AM NOT HOMOPHOBIC, AND NEVER WILL BE!**_ One of my friends that won't help me with my geometry homework anymore is gay (pout unhappily), and my uncle is too. I am only putting this in there because I want Jeremie's dad to be the ickiest person he can be. I decided to make Jeremie's mom nice to make up for that. You don't see her in the show, so that allows me some room to mess around with her a bit, making her the nicest soul in the story.

I decided to mix it up for Odd's chapter, not telling it from his point of view, instead telling it from the kidnapper's point of view. The kidnapper will have a major part in the story, I think, later on, so don't forget him! I like the idea of Odd's family being rich and cuddly; it reminds me of Odd himself, with his love of purple, color for royalty back in the day, and his cuddly nature! I think that this was my favorite part of the whole story to write; tell me what you thought!

Sissi! I put a lot of hints in their about her mum. For anyone that has watched the show, you should probably be able to guess what's happened to her. If you haven't…tough luck, you'll just have to wait until I'm ready to share. Jim, I made police chief, because he's a good person (deep down), and he's tough and cuddly. I was going to write a conversation in, but it got to be a bit longer than I wanted it. What do you guys think? Should their be a little bit of a conflict between the two? I mean, she did pepper spray him! And in the show, Principal Delmas is working all the time, so I made him like that in the story…just a little tensy-tiny bit richer.

Aelita…She was one of the harder ones to write. It's hard to write her; she's not as OCD and smart as Jeremie is, but she's not as innocent and sweet as Odd. She's both, and that makes things hard. I decided to make her issues be with her father, like Jeremie's are, but not the same, which makes things harder. She's also five, which made it a little bit harder. Next time she appears, she'll be the other's age. I probably should have written what the dead body looks like, but…whatever. I added some Harry Potter in, and that makes everything better! By the way, Stubby Boardman is Sirius Black to Luna Lovegood, for everyone who doesn't know! (She's so great!) (Question: Do any of you love Luna Lovegood, Fred and George Weasley (the sexiness!), Fremione, or just overall Harry Potter the way I do? Review!)

I jumped around a lot with William. The flashbacks are going to be very important, so don't skip over them. I love how he can quote; I'm making him a writer in here, so things are going to get whimsical. Yes, I get that William is very depressed. That's my point. All the others are still kind of, or are very, normal. William isn't. He has huge, hard ball issues that I really want to deal with. _**If this is going to read this story, and follow me on this journey, please stop reading now if this will trigger or make you uncomfortable in any way!**_ That is the only going to put that in here once, so please stop here if it's going to be a bad thing for you to do. If not…buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Not all the chapters will be this long or jumpy. I won't have so many points of views; I felt it was necessary, because you need to understand what kind of things they'll be dealing with. Don't worry; not everything has been reveled about their issues. They'll be a **lot** of flashbacks, showing how they got their problems and what caused them in the first place (except for Aelita). This is just how they were caught, so expect more!

Also there won't be this long of an author's note every time. In fact, this is the longest author's note their will be! If you have a question or concern or something, please just review or PM me.

This story is rated T **for now**, for swearing, minor stuff (such as making-out later on), and minor drug references. I might have to up the rating, but I'll warn you if that happen.

By the way (thanks to everyone who has read this far!), I'm going to make a poll for this chapter that'll come up later in the story. Most things are set in stone, but some things…aren't. For most chapter I'll have this, but some won't. So, for the first one :

**Should Aelita have a coping mechanism using Harry Potter?**

A-No, that's…really weird and kind of strange. (Gives Author a weird look.)

B-I like that idea. Nice one, Author! You finally got something right!

C-I don't care.

D-Other.(Specify! Just give me a reason…excuse me while I go listen to P!NK now!)

Quote for Next Chapter:

_What guides the courses of our lives? Is it destiny, fate, luck? What determines who we are or where we fit in? Some people seem to belong almost naturally, falling into a niche from practically the day they are born. Their lives are laid out in front of them, especially those of the very wealthy classes who can afford to sit back and let things happen for them. They get into the best schools, wear the best clothes, have the best friends, eat the best food, all without fighting for any of it. __**But for others, all life seems to be is one long fight**__- a fight for identity, meaning, and relevance. For as many people as seem to have their places handed to them, still more stumble through their lives grasping at thin straws of hope, the hope that someday they will belong. Grasp hard enough, and maybe you'll find the string among the straws, the cord that leads you home. Tie it tightly to your wrist and pull as hard as you can, and you can weave your way into the fabrics until the thread ties off strong, and you find your place. And isn't that all we ever really want?_ _Just to know where we belong?_

_Or if we even belong at all?_


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